


Lollipop, Lollipop

by SumiSprite



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Blacksand - Freeform, Food-kink, M/M, Oblivious!Guardians, Pitch stahp, Pitch you oblivious slut, QUICKSAND, RotGKINKmeme, Sandy's a voyeur, Sumi is a stupid lil squid, THAT IS NOT HOW WE EAT FOOD, pitch - Freeform, prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-11
Updated: 2014-08-18
Packaged: 2018-01-04 09:10:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1079167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SumiSprite/pseuds/SumiSprite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>RotGKINKmeme Prompt by the lovely Plush!<br/>http://rotg-kink.dreamwidth.org/2389.html?thread=4641365</p><p>Sandy wants to subtly form a truce with Pitch, and what better way than with friendly offerings? Sad to say, he gets more than he bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My very first post to AO3. I hope I did this right, but if not...heh, well, I'm a noob. XP Anyways, please enjoy! This is where I'll be posting my more 'mature' work, as it seems now both my parents an dmy brother know about my fanfiction site...*crawls under rock* Don't judge me...!  
> Enjoy!

The act of spreading dreams on a nightly basis sounded rather simple when you say it upfront. This is not so, or so Sandy thinks.

It’s always night somewhere in the world after all, and even though the majority of people will be asleep, it’s almost never boring. Dreams themselves can be rather expressive for the unconscious dreamer, and Sandy himself has seen some pretty _interesting_ dreams. Not all of them he stuck around to see play out for long though – as the sayings went, ‘one person’s dream is another’s nightmare’ and ‘one person’s nightmare is another’s dream’. During Sandy’s first innocent years of starting out as a Dreamweaver were rather eventful. He never thought humans could dream up such…creativity…

Granted, not all of it was very pleasant to look at. Some of them were just flat out weird or embarrassing to watch. They were especially frequent around young adults or kids just entering puberty.

Sandy silently sighed and shook his head in bemusement. Teenagers, honestly; they had so much creative potential, and yet the majority of them were focused on more demanding parts of their developing bodies. He would never understand just how such insignificant acts of everyday things could automatically send their brains into the gutter. It was baffling sometimes. Watching a teenage boy dropping into a sexual fantasy while watching a young woman enjoy an ice cream was something Sandy almost always rolls his eyes in bemusement at. Really, the only appeal Sandy saw to it was that there was ice cream. But then he’d get upset because he wasn’t the one enjoying it. Damn these midnight cravings…

Well, he thought, no use dwelling on what he can’t have. He had work to do after all, and those dreams weren’t going to make themselves! 

Nodding to himself, Sandy sped through his rounds on his current half of the world before jettisoning back to the US. But instead of taking his usual route, Sandy shifted his course for the north-east. He might as well check and see if a certain winter sprite was around. It had been a while since they last saw each other, and Jack was always a fun person to be around.

Burgess was a rather modest town, but it had started growing over the years. This meant more families, and more families meant more kids to send dreams to or play with. Jack himself had gained quite a few over the past five years since he joined the Guardians. And with Jamie now in middle school – his belief still going strong – it helped the winter sprite to have a few extra distractions around his area when the older ones would start to grow up.

Floating on his trademark sand cloud over the forest bordering the town, Sandy surveyed the area. He took in the few dim lights that dotted the town like scarce fireflies, the only sound present in the air being the choir of crickets and the shift of wind-blown branches. Numerous piles of colorful leaves towered around the trees and various yards of the neighborhoods, all brittle and stained with the color of autumn.

These were the kind of nights Sandy loved best. The air was clean and quiet, thoughts of the upcoming holiday and breaks buzzing through the humans’ minds. The serene yet electric energy was just the perfect additive Sandy would need to craft the best quality dreams for kids and adults alike. 

A slight rustling below him caught Sandy’s attention. He blinked and peeked over the edge of his cloud and down below.

Oh, he thought. A loose branch, all of which must have broken off its bearing tree from a breeze, was caught under a few pieces of…were those wooden planks?

More than a little curious, Sandy abandoned his cloud and floated down to the strange oddity. Plucking the small branch free, he picked up one of the broken wood fragments. It was definitely not a natural piece of wood from the forest – granted it was damp and had small bits of moss and tiny weed stalks growing out of its ancient cracks. It was obviously in the forest for a very long time for it to practically become a part of it. And yet, it didn’t feel…quite right.

Sandy frowned and picked up another shard. It was the same as its twin; splintered, damp, smelled of wood rot, and held that same strange sense of wrongness. Like a coaxing of apprehension, of hesitation. And despite the wood’s obvious age, it didn’t seem to possess a single trace of termite or bug wear. It was as if any creature living in the forest was too scared to use it was a source of food…

_“Mmn…”_

Sandy startled at the odd noise and looked up. Another shock of what he could describe as pure disbelief flooded his plush body at what he saw.

Well, he thought. That explained the wood…

It wasn’t wood from something a human may have dumped off, nor was it something maybe a homeless person had carved up for any reason. It was part of a broken bedframe…

The hole to Pitch’s lair laid bare and open, completely devoid of any evidence of it being sealed up in the first place. The ground around it within five feet was completely bare and devoid of the grass that refused to grow near it. Traces of animals never came within ten feet of the small patch of earth, as if the very ground itself was forever tainted with Pitch’s essence.

Sandy swallowed dryly, as if his own sand had caught in his throat – he would laugh at this irony later. Taking careful steps, he ventured over to the barren ground and peered cautiously into the narrow hole.

Blackness. Though he honestly wasn’t expecting much else; he was actually glad to be looking into the gaping maw of a black hole, and not into the face of a Nightmare, or worse, Pitch himself.

Another strange noise reached Sandy’s ears, and he now seemed to realize it was coming from inside the hole. A sudden spark of alarm flickered to life in Sandy; the noise sounded like a pained moan. And the tone of it was deep and familiar; reminisce of a certain nightmare King.

Sandy felt an all too familiar burden of worry press into his gut at this.

It wasn’t known by the others, except for Jack, that Sandy to this very day carried a heavy chunk of remorse and guilt for Pitch after their last battle. He never had any desire to confide in his fellow Guardians about this, if for no reason other than they wouldn’t understand or be able to comprehend just _why._ Only Jack had ever understood his point of view in the matter, but also from a different perspective. Jack had actually come to Sandy himself when his own guilt and the burden of keeping it all to himself had been eating him alive, and he had felt Sandy was the best person to go to on the matter. In all honesty, Sandy was quite happy that Jack came to him, not only because he was quite pleasant to be around, but also because they shared mutual burdens.

It became so much easier for them to move on with their lives with a few ‘cool-down’ sessions, as Jack called them, where they would do nothing but sit around and purge their rarely seen emotions out to one another. Granted, Jack was naturally more outwardly emotional than Sandy, but by the end of it, they both left feeling lighter than before and with better moods. It was simply a mutual moment of kinship and comfort; plus it never hurt to have Jack polish up on his sand-reading abilities. He was getting a lot better at understanding Sandy’s ‘speech’ now; in a few hundred years, he might be as good at reading him as the others, if not better!

But despite the moments of shared grief, it seemed their feelings towards Pitch stemmed from different perspectives, but with similar emotions. Where Sandy sympathized with Pitch for what was done to him, Jack held remorse for why it happened and what could have been done to prevent it. From what Sandy heard, a certain incident in Antarctica was still fresh in Jack’s mind, and still a bit of a sore reminder of the winter sprite’s sympathy for the shade. Jack had at one point confided in Sandy that he maybe could have stopped the whole mess if he had accepted Pitch’s offer and maybe tried to coax the shade into dropping his whole scheme in turn for some real companionship.

Sandy’s little gold heart went out to the winter sprite at this. But he reassured Jack that, even if Pitch was genuine during that time, it likely wouldn’t have changed a thing. Pitch was stubborn and headstrong; his Nightmares may resemble horses, but his personality was that of an old goat. That statement had at the very least got the sprite laughing, and once again, another burden lost a bit of its weight. 

Though no one – except maybe Bunny – would likely blame them for how they felt towards Pitch. There were plenty of times they all – again, sans Bunny – felt a speck of remorse at least once for Pitch in their lives; and these times were without even speaking to Pitch himself, but looking at his past. Though the sympathy was always short lived, but the timing didn’t seem to apply for Jack and Sandy. Because despite his actions, he did not deserve to be hauled off screaming in pure terror to have Moon-knows-what to be done to him.

It was an unspoken question among them all actually; whatever did happen to Pitch when he was buried back in his hole? None of them had an answer, and even less so the desire to go and check.

Up until now at least…

This whole time Sandy has wondered what happened to Pitch, he would get the urge to go check and see if he was alright. What held him back this whole time though was the unspoken promise of an attack and a very spectacular tantrum from the shade. Pitch would simply see the visit as a mocking intrusion. The man was just determined to see any form of kindness towards him as an ulterior offense, or a means to mock him. Not that Sandy could blame him – the paranoia was to be expected when you were in a line of work like Pitch’s.

_“Mmm…”_

Sandy jumped slightly at the noise. It sounded almost like the low purr of a content cat; or a malicious tiger stalking its prey…

Trying to swallow around the lump in his throat, Sandy sighed silently to himself and took a breath in through his nose. He had two choices right now. Either he can swallow his fears and dive head first into possibly a dangerous situation, or he could turn tail and forget he ever heard or saw anything.

_“Nnm…!”_

Damn it…

Sandy mentally cursed his inability to leave someone alone in a possibly injured state.

Taking one last breath, he stepped over to the unstable edge of the hole, shut his eyes, and jumped _down…_

To be continued...


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandy gets an eye-full of one of Pitch's more amorous eating habits.

The black abyss that was the tunnel leading to Pitch’s lair was probably the least hospitable place within the underground palace. But then again, from what Jack told him of Pitch’s lair, where probably wasn’t any part of it that could be described as ‘hospitable’. 

The only source of illumination that helped guided the Dreamweaver along was from his own body. Sandy actually worried his light was a bit too bright, and it that it could attract unwanted attention from Fearlings or Nightmares. Or worse, Pitch himself. But then again, wasn’t the point of coming down here to see Pitch himself…?

 _Stop over-thinking things,_ he mentally scolded. 

His resolve was cut short by a faint, grey light slowly creeping around the edges of the tunnel. Sandy blinked his eyes and squinted as they adjusted to the new light source. He slowly peeked around the corner of the tunnel mouth and looked around.

Huh, he never would have guessed Pitch’s home would have so much…well, light in it. Granted it wasn’t like the normal soft light of lamps or artificial light, nor was it like the warm casting rays of the sun. This light was like the gloomy beaming of a cloudy sky during rain. It wasn’t soft, nor was it overly sharp on one’s eyes; more it was like an illumination of a melancholic atmosphere. Sandy was instantly reminded of the old silent black and white movies of the late 1800s. 

It was silent and still as death, and Sandy briefly thought the entire place was frozen in a complete stand still in time. The dull dust motes floating around in the air were the only definite way to see that time had in fact not stopped. It was so eerie, yet the underground palace seemed to hold a sense of serenity. It was a monochromatic masterpiece in and of itself, and Sandy found himself admiring the gothic beauty form his vantage point, but he stopped his wandering gaze by a slight shifting out of the corner of his eye.

The hollow globe dominating a small alcove stood motionless on a precariously jagged stack of stones. Various lights dotted the hollow stonework, reminisce of fireflies stuck fast to a sticky surface. Like the rest of the lair, it was an eerie, yet strangely beautiful sight.

A flash of black caught Sandy’s attention suddenly. He frowned and leaned over the edge of the tunnel slightly.

An abrupt wave of shock crashed into him like an eighteen wheel truck going full speed.

Pitch, who Sandy had assumed was in distress, was anything but harmed. The shade was cradled in the bowl of the globe that made up Antarctica, reclined back with one arm behind his head and completely unharmed and at ease. But that’s not why Sandy felt like Jack had suddenly frozen him on the spot.

The red candy ball perched on a stick peeked halfway out of Pitch’s puckered lips. A grey-pink tongue peaked out and laved at the lollipop’s underside. The free hand holding the stick of the candy flexed, the slender fingers seemingly caressing the stick. A pleasant moan reverberated through Pitch’s chest, the vibrating purr traveling from his throat and shooting straight into Sandy’s lower belly and groin. 

Each suck on the candy caused the shade’s Adam’s apple to bob in his arched throat. His throat would stretch and arch with each small movement of his mouth and tongue, the tendons bulging and flashing teasingly through taught skin. And with a slow, agonizing tug, Pitch pulled the lollipop out of his mouth with a resounding ‘pop’ and a delighted moan. His pointed tongue – dear Moon, that tongue was _long_ \- slithered out to lick dark lips sensually. The flexible muscle was long enough to nearly touch the bottom of Pitch’s pointed chin!

Sandy was oblivious to the rather bright hue of orange his cheeks had suddenly taken, nor did he notice his breathing becoming more labored. He was practically panting like a dog on a hot summer day, and partly drooling like one now too. 

What exactly am I looking at, he thought. And why was it so hot? Was it supposed to be so hot down here? Moon where did Pitch get that tongue? Why was he sucking on a lollipop in the first place? And why did the bottom half of his suit feel so tight and-*

Sandy’s eye darted downwards.

Oh… _oh_ dear…

 _Seriously?_ Was he honestly… _turned on_ by this? By Pitch sucking on a piece of _candy?_ Did he seriously find it so arousing to watch how the nightmare King’s tongue laved at the red ball of sugar? The way his lips dark lips would purse and pop when he tucked it from his mouth…how his lovely neck would arch and his jugular would bouncing in his throat…the sounds he made a she enjoyed the sweet treat…how it would be to imagine that candy being replaced with Sandy’s sha-

 _STOP!_ Sandy silently whimpered and shuddered.

 _Out…I need to get out. Now!_ Mentally nodding to himself, Sandy slowly crept back into the passageway. Once he was a good distance away, he quickly formed a small sand cloud and jettisoned for the exit above. 

Sandy shot out into the open of early dawn, and bolted out of the forest. He didn’t stop until he was on the other side of Burgess, and even then he felt like he wasn’t far enough.

He eventually stopped just along the outskirts of the town. Sandy looked around, as if to make sure Pitch hadn’t followed him, before he silently sighed and flopped back onto his cloud. He felt exhausted. Though judging by the slight tenting in his suit, he wasn’t quite as tired as he should be…

“Hey Sandy!”

Jumping, Sandy quickly sat up on his cloud and caught a glimpse of a certain winter sprite flying his way. He looked down at his ‘problem’ and cringed. Jack did _not_ need to see nor know of his predicament. 

Sandy grabbed some of the sand on his cloud and yanked it over his lap like a blanket just as Jack stopped and hovered before him with his trademark grin.

“Hey bud! Long time no see.” He greeted.

Sandy smiled as best he could at Jack and waved at him.

“Been a while dude, how you been?” Jack asked, but suddenly he frowned, “Wait, isn’t it kind of late for you to still be out here?”

Sandy blinked and looked at the sky, the horizon starting to tinge light blue and yellow from the slowly rising sun. He mentally cringed and bit his lip. He had missed an entire night in one hemisphere, which meant he didn’t get to the other parts of the world he was supposed to. It wasn’t unheard of for him to take a break and skip a few places, but he had barely gotten started that night!

Sandy looked back at Jack. The winter sprite looked worried, but Sandy could not, _would not_ , tell him that he was still behind on dreams because he had been indulging in voyeurism by watching Pitch suck some candy. And despite his lack of a voice, he wasn’t a very good liar…

Well, he couldn’t lie very well, but he could at the very least tell the ‘truth’.

Gesturing above his head, Sandy formed various images. He made sure the sequences were slow and steady, as Jack was still learning to read his ‘sand-speak’. Jack frowned when he finished his little slide-show of images.

“You…went looking for Pitch?” he asked, “Wait, no, you went to check on him?”

Sandy nodded. It wasn’t a lie after all, he did in fact go to Pitch’s lair with the full intention of checking up on him. So he technically wasn’t lying.

“How come?” Jack asked.

Oh, Sandy thought. He hadn’t planned that far ahead it seemed.

More images flew over his head, his expression becoming somewhat meek. Jack cocked his head and raised a brow.

“Noises?” he asked.

Sandy nodded before the sand-shape of a Nightmare formed over his head. Also true; he did go to check up on Pitch because he thought his Nightmares were doing something to him. And he did hear noises as well that prompted him to check.

“So, did you find out what it was?”

Moon, Sandy thought, he seriously had to think these things through properly.

Hesitantly, Sandy formed a sand-copy of two nightmares fighting with one another. Honestly, out of all his explanations, _this_ one had to be the lie!

“Oh…” Jack said, “Well that had to suck. And no Pitch?”

Sandy shrugged, a question mark and a copy of Pitch himself forming. Liar, liar, _liar_ …

Jack pursed his lips, “Huh, weird. I think I remember seeing him a while ago during Halloween. I think I saw Hal give him some candy or something…”*

Oh, Sandy thought. Well, that explained the lollipop. Hal was always passing out sweets to fellow spirits during his holiday. Who knew Pitch had a sweet tooth? 

Jack looked his fellow Guardian over and frowned slightly.

“Hey Sands, you okay?” He asked, “You look a bit…orange…”

Sandy swallowed and waved a hand meekly. He held his hand over his mouth and yawned, as if to tell Jack he was just tired; it was nothing to worry about.

“Oh…well, okay, if you say so,” Jack joked and grinned, “Well, duty calls. It’s still cold enough for a bit of powdered snow after all!”

A strong breeze boosted Jack higher into the air as he waved goodbye to Sandy.

“See you Sandy!” An a gust of wind later, Jack was gone.

Sandy was left by himself at last, and he gave a grateful sigh of relief. The sand fell away from his lap, revealing his still prominent arousal. He stared in astonishment before flopping back onto his cloud. 

He took back what he last thought about teenagers that night…

To be continued…


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandy's (evil) plot takes a turn for the better. He just hope she survives long enough to see the Boogeyman through more peace offerings...

Sandy was, whether through habit or trade, a bit of a grazer when it came to food. He didn’t actually need to eat; many immortals, if not almost all of them, didn’t even _need_ to eat. It was merely a luxury that many liked to indulge in. North was a good example to this – he didn’t _need_ to eat all those cookies or Christmas confederations. He only did because…well, human traditions dictate it, and quite simply, he loves cookies. The only spirit Sandy could think of who _needed_ to eat was Hal, and that was only because sugar was the only thing that could keep him awake enough to do his yearly job.* And any other spirit that would indulge in eating rarely did to begin with – spirits only ever ate a handful of times a year if conditions were right.

But this being said, Sandy was known to be a bit of a glutton. He couldn’t help it though! His job was a round the clock nightshift – which meant midnight munchies. Plus, he liked food. Humans weren’t always the most sharpest of beings, but _damn_ they could make a mean Philly Cheese steak. 

But what about Pitch, he wondered. He never really struck Sandy as the eating sort; many spirits with his kind of status never ate or consumed anything except perhaps on special occasions. But Pitch didn’t seem to eat anything. But then again, Sandy wasn’t exactly watching him whenever he might be eating – although he has seen Pitch drink tea or wine on occasion during more calmer times. But Sandy had never seen him eat anything solid.

Well…up until recently of course. But he wasn’t sure if a lollipop counted as ‘food’.

Which brings Sandy to his current location in Turin, Italy.* The Dreamweaver was making his rounds that night, and stopped to perch over a telephone pole overlooking a marketplace. Europe and Asian was one of his favorite places to stop for more authentic foods. And right now, he was feeling an itch for Italian. 

His honey-brow eyes surveyed the market below. Many stands that held varying foods ranging from fruits and vegetables to pastas and breads were laid out before him. Tonight, he wasn’t going for any of the healthy stuff though. An upside to being a spirit – weight was almost a nonexistent issue. Any and all things inside of food, including fat, is used as excess fuel for a spirit’s powers.* This also meant no wastes, as everything was just incinerated within their ‘digestive systems’. Sandy could honestly say (so to speak) that his eating habits were not a contribution to his weight – a lot of stars were stout, pudgy little things. And it wasn’t like he cared about his physical appearance. 

Sandy briefly caught a man in a long coat walking by, and his thoughts suddenly strayed back to Pitch. Moon he was something; why hadn’t Sandy seen it sooner? Yes he could openly and honestly admit Pitch was a very attractive soul; tall, dark, slender, all sharp angles and whipcord muscles, and smooth as silk in his mannerisms and actions. But after that performance not even two days ago, Sandy could only describe the shade as a sleek black fox. Or a panther. A very sexy panther…

The Dreamweaver’s cheeks flushed orange and he shook his head violently to clear his thoughts. He did _not_ need another ‘issue’ to arise now, especially when he was looking for a snack. 

A sudden thought occurred to Sandy then. Pitch obviously didn’t get out a lot; he was weak and his shadow-traveling was limited. This also meant he likely didn’t eat very much. The candy he got from Hal was probably the only real substance he’s had in quite some time now. 

The fallen star felt himself cringe at the thought of only eating on the rare occasion. How awful! Sure, they couldn’t necessarily starve, but _still!_ How awful would it be to not eat anything not because you didn’t want to, but because you _couldn’t?_ And aside from that, food also helped in the healing process for spirits. It gave them that extra boost in strength to speed up healing and give back one’s strength.

Pitch would never admit it, but Sandy knew he was fairy intimidated of the Guardians. His recent downfall has made the shade very scarce recently, and the other Guardians (sans Jack and himself) were quite content with this. 

Sandy frowned to himself, his lower lip jutting out. Well this wouldn’t do at all! Yeah Pitch kind of went off the handle last time, but it was understandable to some degree. Sandy could still feel that ever present burden of guilt in his gut from Jack’s days of solitude. He would always regret never interacting with the fun loving sprite. Sandy was heavily convinced that, if Jack had been left alone for a few more centuries, he would have wound up just like Pitch. And it may be late, and there was some bleak history, but maybe now was a good time to extend a sort of peace offering to the shade.

And what better way to do that then with food? 

Sandy suddenly deflated slightly as another thought occurred to him. What did Pitch even like to eat? He obviously had a semblance of a sweet-tooth, and he knew Pitch liked good teas and fine wines. And hey, he was in Italy, and everyone liked Italian food, right?

The star’s eyes wandered back down to the marketplace and onto a bread stand. The smell of freshly baked goods wafted around the wooden stand, and various kinds of breads were hot and ripe for the picking.

 _Hm, bread and wine. What could be better for such a refined spirit?_ Sandy grinned to himself and floated down right into the stream of late-night shoppers. Almost everyone there was an adult, so he didn’t need to worry about people seeing him. He’d catch the eye of the occasional child though, and he’d wave and smile over at them before pressing a finger to his lips in a shushing gesture. 

He wandered over to the bread stand before hopping up to float over the edge of the wooden counter. He shut his eyes and deeply inhaled the scent of fresh baked goods through his nose, sighing silently. Nothing was better than the smell of still warm bread. Now he only had to decide just what to get; there were so many options!

Should he get him something light and airy? Was Pitch carb-conscious and want something with wheat in it? Did he like sweet or fruit breads? Maybe he liked those dry, cracker breads? Was he of a more delicate palate and want something more expensive? Hard bread? Soft bread? Sweet? Nutty? What did he like!?

 _Ugh, so difficult._ Sandy pouted as he scrutinized the offered products with crossed arms. Sandy never knew he would have such a hard time choosing something, let alone a kind of _bread!_

His eyes shifted over the baskets and slabs of bread scattered along the wooden counters and shelves, mentally marking off whatever he couldn’t imagine Pitch eating. He stopped, however, when his eyes landed on a smaller basket with a familiar product bundled up in it.

 _Bread sticks!_ Sandy grinned triumphantly. Pitch would like those – everyone liked bread sticks. They were in restaurants all over the word, and sometimes even Sandy couldn’t resist them.

But these were top end, authentic bread sticks; which meant they would be quite acceptable to even the most picky tastes. They were perfect!

Making sure the stand owner wasn’t looking, Sandy jumped over the counter and formed a basket from his sand. He settled the handle in the crook of his arm, and started picking out the best of the bunch. They were all still hot and smelled divine – now all he needed was to pick up some wine.

Now stocked up with six sticks, Sandy floated back over the counter and placed a few gold coins by the register – spirit or not, he didn’t condone stealing. Besides, humans were rather enamored with all the gold and jeweled trinkets his mermaids brought him from the sea. Sandy rolled his eyes fondly; humans were so silly sometimes.

The star giggled silently to himself before hopping over to the wine section. Now _this_ part would be easy. All he had to do was find the darkest, headiest, reddest wine and he’d be home free…

****

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

Pitch was a rather flighty creature, and those who knew him even just a little bit knew he was known to forsake rest in favor of keeping his body and mind as active as possible. He was like a shark in many ways; he _had_ to keep moving to survive – or really to ebb away boredom – and just didn’t not find the concept of sleep as useful as others do. Sure, he’d catch the occasional cat-nap to recharge his batteries, but actual sleep was not something he often indulged in. 

But when he did decide to take a break and fall into the embrace of his much beloved pile of pillows, he would ask himself just _why_ he ignored it so much.

 _‘Oh, right, the Nightmares…’_ he thought sourly. Even before he had created the sandy apparitions, Pitch had always suffered horrible nightmares whenever he fell into a deep sleep. More often than not he could never fully remember what the nightmares were about, but the general fear always lingered.

To Pitch, sleep was both a blessing and a curse in its truest form. He honestly did love a good lazy day, but indulgence always came with a high price – or at least for him it did. Sleep came as the cost of having a nightmare or two, leaving his lair posed the risk of running into one or more of the Guardians, and just doing his job risked him getting his head beaten through a wall. All of the risks and ‘what if’s seemed to revolve around the Guardians and his risking injury or harm. 

Pitch often times wondered if his breathing was running up some kind of bill of payment somewhere. The idea at the very least brought a faintly humored grin to his face.

But, now was not the time for thinking about what kind of payments he was probably overdue on, imaginary or otherwise. Now he was too content nestling down into his nest of pillows and blankets to give a damn – he didn’t even consider getting himself a bed. Reasons being he felt like he was sleeping at a work-office when he did try out a bed, and he somehow always wakes up _under_ it, much to his chagrin and embarrassment.* 

The steadily warming nest and silken fabrics were heavenly against his skin – one of the few occasions he would take his cloak off was to sleep, the other being when he would bathe. Now the shady cloak served as a thin blanket for him. 

The shade sighed softly and burrowed down further into the soft cushions. He could see why the majority of humans were such crabs in the mornings; sleeping was fantastic and felt so good. He’d be quite cranky too if he had to leave his little plush palace for something as stupid as school or work or something equally as useless. Screw work, his pillows were soft and warm and he was comfortable and lulled into a blissful state of half-sleep and-

…what was that smell?

Pitch frowned slightly, his nostrils flaring as he deeply inhaled the chilled air of his lair. What was that? It smelt like…what _was_ that? It was familiar, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. It definitely wasn’t something bad – quite the contrary, the smell was making his mouth water a bit. 

Pitch’s eyes slid open lazily in a rather accurate imitation of a cat being woken up; complete with the distain and palpable annoyance. He sniffed at the air once more to make sure he wasn’t imagining things. Nope, still there. But what was it? Or better yet, did he want to leave his nice, cozy little nest to check it out? 

Apparently Pitch didn’t have much choice, as a rather flustered looking Nightmare boldly burst into his room and stomped at the edge of his nest. The Nightmare whinnied and chuffed, clopping its hooves in a nervous fidget. Pitch groaned and sat up, bundling his cloak around his warmed torso. 

“Someone either better be dying, or the Dark Ages are making a comeback.” He growled, before he reconsidered, “Actually no, the Dark Ages better be making a comeback, and if someone is dying, just feed off their fear of the inevitable and leave me alone.”

The Nightmare tossed its head back with a loud snort, as if it were insulted, before stomping a hoof loudly and flicking its tail towards the door. Pitch’s eyes narrowed as he took in his creations mental ‘speech’.

“What…?” he inquired, not fully understanding the sand spirit’s words.

It seemed to be describing something – something that had suddenly appeared in his lair. Although the black horse wasn’t giving the best description of what it was. It was a newer one after all, and had yet to leave the lair. All he could make out from the mare was ‘stinky’, ‘basket of sticks’, ‘bottle’, and something along the lines of ‘I can’t scare it away’. 

Pitch was now both intrigued and annoyed. Obviously this ‘intruder’ was inanimate, and was causing the smell. But all of this just served to confuse him more. Just what was out there? Why was it there? And again, did he _really_ want to get up and look? Is this what parents debated with themselves with when their child fled to their bedroom and demanded they check under their beds or in their closets for monsters? Ye gods, he was probably the very bane of every parent’s sleep. Pitch made a mental note to look back and figure out if he should feel proud or ashamed of himself for this.

The Nightmare was persisting and become more flustered. Pitch sighed dramatically.

“Alright, alright, fine…” he growled.

He stood up and allowed his cloak to slide off his body. He shuddered and made a sound of distain as the cold of his lair bit at his skin and caused goose bumps to rise. But he felt too lazy to pick up his cloak and put it on. Besides, if it was just some kind of object that fell into his lair by accident, he wasn’t going to be up long. He could only hope it was something useful, or at the very least interesting, to make the whole ordeal worth it.

“Come on, show me.” He grunted, placing a hand on the mare’s neck. The Nightmare neighed, and the two dissolved into a flurry of sand and shadows.

They reappeared in the foyer of Pitch’s lair, just on the other side of where the globe stood. Once it was fully formed the Nightmare whinnied and trotted off to a different part of the lair. Pitch watched it run off with a frown and jutted lower lip. How rude. Did it except him to just wave his hand and have the problem fix-

Pitch blinked his eyes owlishly when he locked his gaze onto his globe. He reached up and rubbed the heel of his hand against his eyes and looked again. No, still there. 

Just on the edge of the plateau supporting his globe, was a woven basket with a white cloth covering its contents. He couldn’t be sure what was in the basket itself, but it’s was obviously something long, as part of the cloth was pushed up into a vague tent shape. 

Pitch frowned and canted his head forward slightly, his body tensing from his natural caution. He submerged himself into a shadow and reappeared on the other side of his globe, now closer to the basket. It wasn’t doing anything, but he knew better than to underestimate a possible threat, or worse, a prank. He would never forget the day Frost somehow worked up the gall to set off _numerous_ egg-bombs – courtesy of one resident Pooka – loaded with paint in his lair. His Nightmares, lair, and his robes were stained in various bright pastel colors for weeks after that…

But this didn’t seem like Jack’s usual preference. It didn’t fit him, and everyone knew how adamant Jack was in making sure he laid claim to any and all forms of his pranks. 

Cautiously, Pitch approached the basket. He meticulously poked the basket with his foot. Nothing happened – though the contents did shift a bit. The Boogeyman frowned and kneeled down in front of it, deeming it safe. He grabbed the cloth and lifted it off.

The scent he had picked up in his lair suddenly became stronger and warmer, filling his nose pleasantly and watering his mouth. His confusion was only made more obvious as he stared at the bundle of bread sticks in the basket, along with a lovingly aged bottle of red wine. 

Sulfur eyes blinking in stunned awe, Pitch poked one of the sticks curiously. It was warm, its surface soft and dusted with salt and parmesan. They smelt delicious, and the wine looked decadent. 

The Nightmare King looked up and around his lair briefly. How did it even get here? Did someone leave it? Why? 

Humming to himself, Pitch picked up one of the sticks and examined it curiously. It didn’t look or feel fake, and he couldn’t smell anything wrong with it. And even if it was poisoned, it wouldn’t kill him – and it wasn’t like he knew anyone who hated him enough to poison him. He doubted the Guardians had the gall to do such a thing.

Glancing one last time around his foyer, Pitch shrugged and brought the bread to his mouth, taking a dainty nibble at its end. He shuddered.

It was delicious.

****

X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X

Hidden in the threshold of the entrance to Pitch’s foyer, Sandy watched – after recovering from seeing the Nightmare King topless – as Pitch cautiously surveyed his gift. It was amusing yet disconcerting to see how paranoid Pitch was with the mere offer of food. But then again, Sandy couldn’t really blame him. He wasn’t exactly one to receive gifts after all, and whatever is given to him often blows up in his face; literally. 

_I just hope he likes it,_ he thought. Sandy fidgeted with his hands as he watched Pitch take a tiny nibble from one of the bread sticks. Sandy grinned when a look of shock and delight crossed over Pitch’s face – he liked them!

Honey brow eyes as a grey-pink tongue poked out of black lips to lick off salt and parmesan from the sharp lumps of flesh. Pitch seemed to consider the basket and bottle, before waving a hand. A Victorian style one armed loveseat formed out of Nightmare sand at Pitch’s command. The Nightmare King flopped down onto the couch, his head pillows on the soft arm, and returned to his snack.

Sandy’s eyes widened when Pitch didn’t bite into the stick, but instead poked his tongue out and _licked it_ from end to end. His tongue trailed over the salty surface slowly, sensually, his taste buds catching every bit of the topping. He sighed in delight as his tongue flicked off with a resounding ‘fwip’, sucking the muscle back into his mouth with a moan. 

Pitch reclined back into his seat, placing his free arm behind his head. Sandy continued to gape as Pitch licked up and down the bread stick with the slow and steady ease of a class-A whore. Sighs and moans filled the cavern as the Boogeyman continued to lavish his treat. Sandy bit his lip as Pitch licked his lips again, his bare chest rising and falling in a deep breath of satisfaction. Pitch eyed the wine with a lazy gaze and cocked his head. With a wave of his hand, a black goblet of Nightmare sand formed in his hand. He set the bread stick aside and uncorked the bottle, pouring a generous amount of wine into the goblet.

He picked it up and pressed the lip of the goblet to his upper lip, deeply inhaling its heady smell. He shuddered, the scent of the wine sending his head swimming. Pitch tip the goblet just slightly before dipping his long, pointed tongue into the dark red liquid, moaning in delight as the spicy drink burned his tongue and sent him into a haze. He sucked his tongue back into his mouth and picked his bread stick back up. He dipped it briefly into his wine until the tip was a deep, blood red, before he sat back and tipped his head back.

Sandy watched, curious, as Pitch leaned back with his head back, holding the wine-soaked bread stick over his head. His eyes widened and he squeaked silently as Pitch brought the stick down and _engulfed_ it.

Sandy felt like he was going to faint. He doubled over as a sharp sting of arousal shot through his belly and into his groin, causing him to clutch his gut and moan silently. How was he _doing_ that!? The bread stick was a good three-fourths of the way in Pitch’s mouth and down his throat! 

Sandy didn’t think it could get any more arousing, until Pitch started _pumping_ it in his mouth.

The Boogeyman’s cheeks hollowed as he sucked and nipped at the warm bread pushing into his throat. His black lips stretched beautifully over the thickest part of the bread stick, his tongue peeking out between his bottom lip and the bottom of the thick bread stick. A tiny dribble of drool slipped down the corner of Pitch’s stuffed mouth, the Boogeyman moaning as the tip of the stick touched the back of his throat. He pulled it out halfway, before slowly biting down and breaking it in half.

Pitch sighed through his nose as the warm wine-soaked bread melted over his mouth as he chewed. He swallowed the rich bread and licked his lips again before tipping his goblet back to take a long draught. He was already starting to feel the effects of the alcohol, his head swimming in a hazy ballet of dizzying colors and sensations. He drained the goblet with a sigh and reached down for the bottle to refill it. But he seemed to underestimate his own buzz, as when he tipped the bottle back, he missed the goblet, causing the red liquid to spill onto his stomach and pool in his navel.

Pitch blinked slowly and stared at the red pool on his belly. He seemed to be considering something, and Sandy watched as he picked up the remainder of his bread stick and dipped it into his navel. He slowly traced it up his abdomen and sternum, collecting the rest of the spilled drink, before sucking it into his mouth. 

Sandy, meanwhile, was now down on his hands and knees, his knuckles stuffed into his mouth and his free hand shoved down his suit. Watching Pitch play with his food and body like he was was just too arousing. He never thought the concept of food could be so damn erotic!

He watched as Pitch started on his third stick. He managed to refill his goblet without spilling – much to Sandy’s dismay – and continued to deep-throat the sticks before dipping and sucking at the bread. It was like he was high on an aphrodisiac, and he couldn’t stop himself.

Four bread sticks later, and six glasses of wine later, Pitch was not but a puddle of purring, satisfied bliss. He lounged limply on his loveseat, his eyes hooded in a state of half sleep from his full stomach. It had really been too long since he last ate something, and even longer since he felt full and satisfied. Pitch limply brought a hand up to his face and licked off the remaining salt on his fingers, suckling on each one slowly.

Sighing, Pitch settled back onto his rather comfy couch and shut his eyes as a food-coma set in. Minutes later, he was softly snoring in a deep sleep, one hand crossed over his slightly distended stomach.

Sandy, meanwhile, was finally recovering from what had to be his third self-served orgasm. The fallen star was panting soundlessly, his clouded eyes gazing at Pitch longingly. Was this what happened when Pitch got his hands on suggestive food? Was this what will always happen if Sandy dropped by and left the Boogeyman an offering of food? _Could_ it happen again?

Barely regaining his composure, Sandy shakily floated back up into the air to get ready to leave. He shot one last longing glance at the comatose Boogeyman before zipping out of the cavern and back into the evening sky.

He had work to do, and it didn’t involve spreading dreams…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For now, chapters are short, but once I get my bearings and finish the xmas special for this fic, they'll get longer. Yay! Keep a look out!
> 
> Once again, food-kink suggestions are very much welcome! And I hope my first AO3 fic was up to standards. 
> 
> Sumi, out!


	4. Chapter 4

Due to real life issues, a full workload of fics, and a decrease in interest, this fic will no longer be continued, and is now up for adoption.  
If anyone is interested, please message me, or contact me from my fanfiction.net page!  
https://www.fanfiction.net/u/4570933/Sumi-Sprite  
You can also contact me on my DA page.  
http://sumi-sprite.deviantart.com/

Thank you, and my sincerest apologize for the convenience. 

Sayonara,

~S~

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone has any ideas for more food-kinks, please comment or drop me a line! It would be very much appreciated. Much love!
> 
> Sumi, out!


End file.
